


No Contest (we’re not Seinfeld)

by marguerite_26



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banter, Bets, First Time, Humor, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Porn Watching, Sexual Humor, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:57:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marguerite_26/pseuds/marguerite_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Everyone thinks their dick is great, Stiles. You’re the only one who can’t seem to keep your hands off yours.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [eldee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eldee/pseuds/eldee) for beta reading. And to [ealdore](http://archiveofourown.org/users/eleadore/pseuds/eleadore) for encouraging this silliness.
> 
> I’m posting this as a WIP because I’m still fiddling with the ending, but it’s a fairly short fic and will be posted in 3 parts over a week or so. 
> 
> Very loosely based on the Seinfeld episode: "[The Contest](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Contest)"

“Seriously, Stiles?” Derek sounded a bit like he was trying to hold his breath and talk at the same time. “Again?”

“What?”

The sassy look Derek gave him said loud and clear: _do you need me to spell it out for you?_

Stiles sputtered. “I’m a sixteen year old boy! It’s perfectly natural to have _needs_ and to take care of those needs.”

“Isaac said he texted you that I was coming over to get that book. You could have waited ten minutes.”

“I was in progress, man!” Stiles threw his hands in the air in indignation. “The ship had left port already... faster to arrive at the destination than to turn around if you catch my meaning.”

“Thank you for that. I’ll cherish those images of you trying to steer your dick back to port. They’ll come in handy any time I need to stab myself in the eye.”

“Next time I’ll open a window before you come over, spare you precious sensibilities.”

“Stiles, you smell like you’ve taken a bath in your own spunk every time I see you.” Derek shook his head like this was _Stiles’_ issue and not some werewolf problem that really was just something they needed to deal with. “Admit it. You’re obsessed with your own dick.”

“It’s a great dick!” _Because it is_. And he wasn’t about to let Derek tell him otherwise.

Derek’s lips pressed tight, a smirk fighting to break through. “Everyone thinks their dick is great, Stiles. You’re the only one who can’t seem to keep your hands off yours.”

“Unfair!” Stiles gaped at the accusation, no matter how well founded. “You can’t compare! Everyone else around here has a sex life. They don’t need to resort to baser means of release.”

“You jerk yourself raw anytime you’ve got ten minutes alone in a locked room.”

“Shut up.” Sometimes it took less than ten minutes. “Like you were any different.”

“I lived in a house full of werewolves who could hear and smell everything. I learned control.”

“Of course you would.” Stiles sighed. “You’re like Mr. Control. Look at you! You’re standing there with your fists all clenched... maybe if you gave your dick a good tug a little more often you wouldn’t walk around looking like you’re about to punch everybody.”

“Not everybody. Just you.”

Stiles curled his lip up in mock laughter. Derek was so hilarious. “You know I’m right. No one could be as angry as you are if they jerked off regularly.”

Derek huffed, reaching out for the book on faeries that Stiles had left on the edge of his desk. “Can we stop talking about _my_ dick, please.” Derek’s tone had shifted, just the slightest bit, from taunting to defensive.

Stiles grinned. The table just turned. “No, I think if you want to bring up my dick, I’m going to bring up yours... and I’m positive there was a better way of saying that that didn’t sound like gay porn.”

Derek cocked his head, eyebrows doing a condescending creep to his forehead. 

“Anywhoo, my point stands,” Stiles said, not dropping this because he did have a point. And it stood. “You’d be a better man slapping the monkey more often and working on those abs a little less often. Not that your abs aren’t works of art but you’d be a hellava lot more pleasant person to be around.”

“And you might actually learn some discipline if you stopped jerking off.”

“All together?” Stiles’ voice cracked.

Derek snorted. “Try something like once a day?”

“So are we talking a bet here?”

“This isn’t Seinfeld.”

“No! You’d win that bet. Hands down.” Stiles giggled. “Hands up? Over the covers?”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“No.” Stiles’ mind was already running with this and there was no stopping it. “If we’re going to bet, it would be you jerking off as often as I do, me jerking off as often as you do -- which better not be never.”

“That is ridiculous. I wouldn’t have any time to get anything done.”

“It would just cut into your scheduled brooding time which wouldn’t matter since you won’t need it because you’d be all mellow.”

“Mellow as you?”

“I am mellow. Mellow yellow. And after one week, you will be too. While I will be a frustrated mess of anger.” Stiles frowned. Somewhere along the way he let the plot get away from him. “Wait. I’m not seeing what’s in this for me.”

Derek’s scowl softened and Stiles knew he was in trouble. “Oh, I think this is good. Maybe you could work on your abs instead of your dick.” Derek reached out to pat Stiles’ less than firm belly, but Stiles danced out of reach. “I’ll even sweeten the deal. You stop wanking--”

“You said once a day was allowed!”

“Fine, you need to limit yourself to once a day...”

“...and you need to jerk off my average of 4 times.” Derek sputtered and Stiles’ cheeks flamed. “What? It’s an average. I may be undercutting it but that only makes it easier on you.”

“Fine.” Derek nodded. “Four times.”

“I’ve got like zero money. So what’s the bet?”

“We can bet other things.” Derek looked around the room like he was searching for anything at all that might tempt him. He didn’t look overly impressed. Finally, he said, “You last the longest, I’ll let you have my Camaro for a weekend.”

“Woah... that’s … woah... Do I really stink that--” 

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“And if I last the longest--”

“Wait, isn’t touching your dick incentive enough? Shouldn’t that be its own reward?” Stiles’ eyes narrowed and his gaze dropped to Derek’s crotch. “Unless there is something wrong with you. Wait, is it because you are too old to get it up that many--”

“Stiles,” Derek snapped, turning away from Stiles. “Don’t even--”

“Alright, if you last longer I’ll let you have my--”

“I don’t want your Jeep.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Now, when you _fail_ ,” Derek said, emphasis on the _when_ , “you need to wash my car -- by hand -- every Saturday for a month.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Stiles asked because he was Stiles.

Derek ignored him because he was Derek. “Bet starts at midnight,” he said and disappeared out the window, book in hand.

Stiles stared at the open window, wondering what the fuck had just happened.

There were days (rare but they existed) where he didn’t jerk off _at all_. When his life was in danger constantly? No jerking happened. Or less anyway. Those days there was a lot of collapsing in bed after too much research without even a thought to touching his dick. So really, this was possible. And that Camaro for a whole weekend? Totally worth only getting off once a day for a week or so.

Derek wouldn’t survive long having to wank four times a day, Stiles was certain. The guy was a prude. And tower of restraint. Or something. Whatever. He wouldn’t be able to keep up that kind of dick-workout regime.

In bed that night, Stiles sat leaning against his headboard, his laptop glowing bright in his dark room. In the top corner of the porn he was watching, the clock ticked. Starting at midnight meant he could wank himself raw until then, right?

* * *

Stiles woke the next morning with his hand wrapped around his cock. He gave his morning wood a squeeze and a lazy stroke before he’d even opened his eyes.

“I have no running water at the house. You’ll need to bring soapy buckets from somewhere. Or I could just park it in your driveway and you can explain to the Sheriff why you are washing my car.”

Stiles groaned. “You’re a dick.”

“You’re late for school.”

Stiles’ eyes snapped open and he glared at the clock. “Fuck.” He scrambled out of bed and dove for his pile of not-too-dirty clothes in the corner of his room. “Fuck.”

Hopping on one foot, he pulled up his jeans. He found a pair of socks and shoved them into his backpack to put on during homeroom. He added his algebra text and last night’s homework to his bag then looked around for his phone. He let out an ungodly noise as his eyes landed on his bed.

“What are you doing?”

Derek sighed, arms crossing behind his head as he lay back on Stiles’ pillow. “Bed’s still warm. ‘snice.” Then Derek closed his eyes and he looked _comfortable_. Comfortable like Stiles’ bed was the best place he’d ever been. It was so many levels of wrong.

“What!” Stiles blinked. For a moment, he was 98% positive he’d stepped into the start of a porno, except that these things didn’t happen to him. Unfortunately, no one had told his dick life’s harsh truths. His morning wood was going nowhere fast.

Derek’s eyes trailed down to Stiles’ still open fly in a way that was not conducive to Stiles getting to school anytime soon.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Derek said, his face now looking more like he was holding back a laugh then leering. “I have to get in four --”

Stiles jaw dropped realizing what Derek was planning on doing in his bed. “No, you are not... not in my bed.”

“And since it smells like you were up all night --”

“Oh, God.”

“--so the mood is already set, so to speak.”

“I hate you.” Stiles winced as he tried to angle his hard cock so he could zip and button his jeans. “My hate for you knows no bounds.”

When Stiles’ looked up again both Derek’s hands were under the covers and Stiles watched him shimmy out of his jeans.

Derek Hales’ naked ass was now in his bed.

“Thanks for this.” Derek looked back at him like this was all perfectly innocent. “Old man like me. I need to take advantage when the mood hits.”

“Son of a bitch.” Stiles scooped up his backpack and a flannel shirt that was probably dirty but who the fuck cared anyway. He closed the door to his room -- he was not letting his dad accidentally walk by to see what Derek was about to do. As fun as it would be seeing Derek jailed, Stiles would have to make some sort of statement and that would not be worth it.

He brushed his teeth and finished getting ready in a blur of curses. He was late enough that he had zero time to stop and listen at his bedroom door. So he almost didn’t.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles spent the entire ride to school trying not to think about Derek tugging one off in his bed or the moan he’d heard before stumbling down the stairs. So what if Derek was getting off on the smell of Stiles’ spunk that had to be all over his sheets -- not to mention the kleenex filled garbage bin that he should have emptied a week ago?

The rational part of his brain -- the part still managing to get blood sent to it; the majority was being re-directed elsewhere -- knew he was being played. Derek had known exactly what that little display would do to Stiles this morning because Derek was a bastard who knew he was sex on legs.

Derek clearly wanted the bet over with as fast as possible and expected Stiles not to make it through first period without rushing off to the bathroom. But Stiles had self control. Also, he had Harris for first period and that bastard would rather Stiles piss his pants before he’d ever let him leave the classroom.

The fact that Isaac was not-so-subtly sniffing him periodically throughout the day was just more incentive to win this thing.

“God, I hate that guy’s smirk,” Stiles said, sneering across the cafeteria.

Scott’s shoulders lifted a fraction. “I still can’t believe you made this bet,” he said, nose wrinkling, “with _Derek_.”

Stiles jaw dropped. They’d been over this. “The. Camaro. For. A. Weekend.”

“Sorry, dude.” Scott poked at the Mac and Cheese Surprise on his tray before pushing it away. “Nothing would make it worth having to think about what Derek does with his dick.”

“Whatever. It’s the principle of the thing. I have control. I am control.” Stiles grabbed Scott’s lunch and took a bite. The benefits of not having Scott's enhanced sense of smell was that Stiles got to eat the reasonably edible food Scott turned away. “Also: Camaro”

By the afternoon, Stiles had gained a bit of confidence. Derek’s little display this morning was a good sign. If he was that desperate for Stiles to lose the bet quickly, Derek must think he didn’t have a chance if it went on for a few more days.

It took a special something to sustain the kind of devotion that Stiles had to frequent orgasms. Derek’s forearms probably couldn’t take the strain. No, that wasn’t possible. Stiles has seen Derek’s forearms and they looked like they could handle a workout. Stiles shook his head before that thought got away from him.

Across the economics classroom Isaac was looking at him and laughing. Jerk.

Maybe it was Derek’s junk that was the problem? Stiles added that to his personal Derek headcanon.

* * *

His bed was made; Stiles completely lost it. You’d think that if Derek had left the sheets a rumpled mess it would be worse. It wasn’t. If the bed was unmade or the half-ass ‘just pull up the covers’ style of bed making that Stiles usually opted for, then it wouldn’t be so _noticeable_.

Instead, the sheets were tucked and folded, and the cover smoothed out. It was a glaring reminder that someone else had been in his bed. Someone else had gotten off in his bed. And Stiles hadn’t even been there to enjoy it.

It was so unfair.

He tossed his bag by his desk and went to get something ready for dinner. His dad would be home in an hour and Stiles needed to be anywhere but in his room -- at least until he could slip into that too perfectly made bed and wrap his hand around his dick.

For that, he needed to wait as long as possible if he was going to make it through day one with only wanking once.

* * *

It was eleven by the time Stiles slammed shut his econ text and got ready for bed. He’d half expect a visitor to pop in at some point to torment him. He’d even pulled the blind and placed his telescope in front of the window so an entrance to his room would lack any sort of grace.

No one came, but he kept the telescope in place just because he was a bastard like that.

Stiles pulled down his covers and realized he should change his sheets. He groaned and got in anyway. It was part laziness, part... something Stiles didn’t want to think about. Regardless, he slipped into bed and whimpered a bit when he caught a faint whiff of Derek’s cologne on his pillow.

He slipped his hand beneath the covers and squeezed his eyes shut. Fuck it, he might be going to hell in a handbasket but he wasn’t going to censor tonight’s wank. He deserved this. And if Derek didn’t want to be the star of Stiles’ wank fantasies he shouldn’t jerk off in Stiles’ bed.

* * *

Stiles woke to a crash. He jumped out of bed, barely conscious, and in the next instant he was falling, arms pinwheeling as he tripped and added himself to the heap at the side of his bed. The blinds covering his window were askew, hanging half-broken and letting in the bright orange morning light. It took a moment to get his bearings again, but laughter erupted in him the moment he recognized the uncomfortable lump beneath him as a tangle of werewolf limbs and telescope tripod. 

“Off.”

The red flare of Derek’s eyes only made him laugh harder. “Not so suave today, are you, buddy?”

Derek grunted, and Stiles and the telescope were shoved aside. In a few hours Stiles might mourn for that pricey item his dad had gotten him for his fourteenth birthday when Stiles was more interested in astrology than werewolf lore. For now though, nothing was going to wipe the smile off his face.

He tried to keep quiet – his dad was sleeping down the hall – but he had to curl in on himself, holding his stomach as Derek scowled and scrambled to his feet.

“Come to tell me that you’ve lost the bet?”

“Checking that you haven’t.”

“I haven’t.” Stiles realized his disadvantage. Derek could tell he wasn’t lying but he had no way of knowing the same.

“Heh.”

“Don’t look so surprised! What, you didn’t think I’d last _one day_? Please.”

“Based on what I’ve seen from you in the last few months?”

“Whatever, asshole.” Stiles stood, tugging up his pyjama bottoms as they slipped low on his hips.

Derek was staring at him, and Stiles was grateful his morning wood had thankfully disappeared quickly with his rude awakening.

“If we are going to do these impromptu check-ins, we are going to be fair about it. I’ll be at your house after school. And I’m bringing Scott.”

Derek rolled his eyes as if it was Stiles that was taking this bet all too serious. But sneaking into his bedroom to watch him sleep two mornings in a row? Dude needed a mirror.

“Go away now. It’s still an hour before I need to leave for school. And my bed? Off limits to you and your dick. Am I clear?”

Derek pushed aside the broken blind to get to the window and shrugged. “I guess I’ll come back later.”

Stiles blinked, letting the words register. He wondered if locking the window was going to have any effect at all.

* * *

School did not improve his day.

“Isaac, I swear if you sniff-test me one more fucking time I will shove mountain ash down your dick hole while you are sleeping.”

Fucking werewolves.

* * *

“I hate you for making me do this.” Scott knocked into his shoulder as they made their way from the Jeep. “Just so we’re clear.”

Derek stepped out onto the porch, blocking the door like Stiles and Scott were unworthy to enter his derelict house. Maybe he was just showing off how he could hear everything for a hundred mile radius. “Let’s get this over with.”

Scott scowled at Derek, then at Stiles and then back at Derek. “Fine. How many times did you--” Scott waved his hands.

“Come on, Scott.” Stiles clucked his tongue. “You have to say it or he’ll find a way to lie.”

“This sucks,” Scott whined, then with an exhale muttered, “how many times did you _masturbate_ yesterday.”

“Four,” Derek said without hesitation, and added, “twice in Stiles’ bed.”

Scott whimpered, scrunching up his face. “Not lying, and also TMI. Not on, dude.”

Derek smirked. “Stiles?”

“Once.”

“Say, ‘once the entire day’.”

“Once. The. Entire. Day.”

Derek’s lips quirked up. “In the same sheets I used?”

“Yes. Wait. What?” Stiles’ eyes snapped up to stare at Derek, who looked so fucking smug that he’d gotten Stiles to admit it. “That’s not--”

A high pitched groan came from Scott who looked like ready to claw off his own ears. “You guys are so weird. I’m totally traumatized at having to play lie detector for this.”

Scott stormed off and Stiles shouted after him, “But you are going to keep doing it because of the best friend code!”

Derek gave at him a weird look.

Maybe he didn’t know. Derek didn’t exactly seem the best friend type. “You see the best friend code states that--”

“Does it look like I care?” And suddenly the burnt-out front door slammed in Stiles’ face.

“Rude!” Stiles shouted into the wood. “Looks like all those orgasms are doing nothing to improve your scowlface condition. I knew something was wrong with your dick.”

* * *

Stiles was pretty proud of himself when he considered how day two of the bet had gone. The constant annoyance he’d felt throughout the day had kept him distracted. That night he played _Call of Duty_ with Scott after dinner -- both of them avoiding the dick-shaped elephant in the room.

In the end he barely had time to rub one off before crashing for the night. He fell asleep confident he was going to win this.

* * *

Too bad he woke up fucking horny.

He whimpered into his pillow and flipped onto his belly. His last dream had been lucid and intense. He still felt the phantom heat of the mouth on his cock, the way it had swallowed him down and let him thrust forward. His hands tickled at the memory of being buried into thick black hair -- _short, black; not strawberry blond_. Fuck.

He was half-asleep and too damn horny to feel guilty about dreaming of Derek on his knees while Stiles face fucked him. 

His hips jerked instinctively, humping the mattress, chasing the friction he’d felt in the dream. Only it was all wrong, rough and awkward and not... God, wet and hot with a tongue that could -- Stiles’ eyes snapped open. 

He couldn’t do this. It was first thing in the morning and using up his quota before 8am was too tragic to even consider. 

He choked back a sob of frustration. Instead, he sent Scott a wake-up text and went off to take a shower. He pressed his eyes shut and turned the dial to cold. 

Scott won about a year’s worth of best friend points for managing to get his ass out of bed and boot it over to Stiles’ house before Stiles even got out of the shower. 

“When this is done,” Scott said, yawning into his palm, “I’m going back to bed.” 

Stiles stared at his pillow longingly, knowing the minute his head hit it, the dream would flood back to him. “Me too, I hope.” 

Because he was a good friend, Scott didn’t say a word about how unlikely that was. 

Stiles was banking on the slim chance that Derek had already failed the bet. It was enough of a possibility to justify Stiles heading over there first thing. Maybe he’d be back home in an hour, free to spend the entire day with his hands down his pants. A boy could dream, couldn’t he? 

* * *

Derek was shirtless when he answered the door. He just let the door swing wide and went back to doing pull ups on the archway leading into what Stiles figured had once been a parlor. 

Stiles blinked up at the sweat-glistening muscles playing along the Derek’s shoulders. The ink of his tattoo rippled in a very distracting way and Stiles couldn’t be entirely blamed for forgetting why they were here this early. 

“Four,” Derek said, not breaking the rhythm of the grunts that accompanied each lift of his body. Asshole. 

“Not lying,” Scott said. “Can I go now?” 

_Not lying._ Stiles gritted his teeth. He hadn’t thought ‘screaming internally’ was really a thing. But it was, and he was currently doing it. 

“Sorry, man.” Scott shrugged and jogged towards the door. “Gonna go for a run then take a nap. Stop by later, you can help me study for the Chem test. You owe me.” 

“Yeah, sure.” Stiles scrubbed at the back of his neck trying to ignore the truly pornography noises Derek was making only a few feet from him. 

“Giving up?” Derek hopped down, grabbing a threadbare towel hanging off the back of the only chair in the room. 

“Aren’t you going to make me say: Only. Once. All. Day?” 

“Don’t need to.” Derek looked him up and down and smirked. 

Stiles wondered just how desperate he looked, smelt. He shifted his weight, trying not to draw attention to the chubby he’d been sporting since Derek had started hoisting himself up by his biceps. 

“I’m not losing this bet so you’d better think about how you are getting by for a whole weekend without your car.” 

Derek stepped forward into Stiles personal space, looming over him. “Who do you think you’re fooling, Stiles?” He held the towel around his neck, one hand gripping each end. Stiles got momentarily distracted by the tight curl of Derek’s fingers. “You won’t last the day.” 

“You’re projecting.” Stiles took a step back, swallowing with an audible click. “You’re the one who’s got Isaac sniffing between my legs every time he passes me in the hallway.” 

“That make you uncomfortable?” Derek closed the gap between them again. “I’d have thought you’d appreciate any attention your crotch gets.” 

“Just... Just tell Isaac to keep his snout to himself, dude,” Stiles said, raising his chin and pointedly holding his ground. “I’m not into whatever kinky shit you guys get up to.” 

“Are we done here?” Derek tossed the towel across the room so it landed in a pile of similarly discarded towels. The guy totally needed to get on some housekeeping. “I’d like to take care of something.” 

Derek’s tone made Stiles’ eyes flicker downward. He immediately regretted it because Derek’s tight jeans were doing nothing to hide his impressive bulge. 

Derek turned, walking a little bowlegged. “Workouts always get my blood pumping.” 

Over his shoulder he gave Stiles a look that... fuck. Stiles had no words for it, but it made his mouth go dry. He was grateful his jeans weren’t nearly as tight as Derek’s. 

“See you ‘round, Stiles.” Derek’s voice trailed off as he made his way upstairs. 

Stiles tripped out of the house, not really sure what had just happened but one hundred percent positive no one had ever looked at him like Derek just had. 

He sat in his Jeep and stared at the house. He couldn’t see anything through the second floor windows -- Derek’s bedroom was likely in the back half anyway -- but that didn’t stop him from _knowing_ what Derek was doing right now. 

He squeezed the steering wheel, resting his forehead on the top. “Fuck it,” he said and hurried to undo his zipper. 

Derek could probably hear him. 

Stiles hated himself for that. 

He squeezed his cock through his boxers, his breath hitching as he fought with himself. 

“This is so, so wrong,” he stammered and reached inside to wrap his fingers around himself. 

Yeah, Derek could probably hear him. He might even be getting off on it. 

Stiles tightened his grip and pumped his cock. It wasn’t like he was going to last. Might as well make it fast and dirty. Each pull was chaffing, dry and tight, nothing like that glorious blowjob he’d dreamed about that morning. 

He whined, knowing it was too loud, knowing he was just calling attention to himself and what he was doing right outside Derek’s house. He imagined Derek stopped for a moment, waiting and listening with his dick in hand and his legs trembling he was so close. Imagined him waiting for Stiles’ next sound anyway. 

That shouldn’t be so hot but it made Stiles’ hand speed up. A minute later, come painted his steering wheel. 

Stiles’ face flushed in shame as he grabbed for the wipes he kept in his glove compartment and cleaned up before Derek came out to mock him. 

It was only as he drove away that he remembered the bet and the fact he’d just given in and used his quota for the day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [me on tumblr](http://marguerite26.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to **OnTheTurningAway** and **Eldee** for their help with this chapter.

“You’re fidgety tonight, Son.”

Stiles looked up from the spaghetti he was twirling. It was a skill he’d mastered by age ten and yet it seemed like an impossible feat at the moment. All day he’d been on edge, hyper-aware that tonight he couldn’t jack off. An afternoon spent with Scott, playing _Call of Duty_ more than studying, had only done so much to distract him.

“Got a Chem test on Monday.” Stiles set down his fork and chugged some milk. It was too warm, cloying in his throat. “Just a little nervous.”

“It’s Saturday night.”

“You know Harris hates me.” Stiles wondered when phrasing his responses so the words were the truth, even if it didn’t answer the question, had become so natural to him. Another perk from proximity to werewolves.

“He still giving you trouble? Because of me?”

Ah, fuck. “He doesn’t need any reason more than this to hate me.” He pointed at his own face and plastered on a smile. “It’s all on me.”

Stiles hurried through dinner, shoveling instead of twirling.

“I think I’ll hit the books and maybe show that ass-- that teacher that I’m not going down without a fighting.”

“Good for you.” His dad looked at him with such pride Stiles promised himself he would actually study for that test tonight instead of dicking around on the internet, trying to avoid getting a hard on he wouldn’t be able to deal with anyway.

* * *

Stiles eyed his closed bedroom door for a moment and frowned, knowing he hadn’t shut it earlier.

He opened it slowly, wondering what (or rather: who) would be on the other side. His bed was empty but his computer chair wasn’t. He wasn’t sure if he should count that as a win just yet.

Then he caught sight of what was on his laptop screen.

“No,” he said, shutting the door quickly behind himself. “No fucking way.” No one, absolutely no one -- not even Scott -- went through his porn folder.

“Come on, _Stiles_.” Derek dragged out his name in a smarmy way that sounded too much like Peter. “I need one more tonight. Just looking for a little inspiration.”

“No, okay? I have zero sympathy for you, dude. Zero. Negative sympathy.”

Derek stopped scrolling through his list of vids and shot Stiles a look. “Isn’t negative sympathy jealousy?”

Stiles ran his hands over his short hair. “Don’t even go there.”

“This one looks interesting.” Before Stiles could do anything more than swear and flail out his hands, Derek was double clicking on _hottestfuckingrimjobever.avi_.

The familiar intro dialogue started to play. He usually skipped over the beginning but the badly delivered first line of _Hey, you want to try something fun?_ was enough to get his blood pumping like he had pavlov's penis in his pants.

Stiles’ cheeks flamed. He flew across the room and dove for his laptop.

His forearm was caught mid-reach, his fingers just grazing the laptop but not close enough to flip the lid.

Derek’s eyes were on the screen, on the two guys flirting by the pool side, commenting on each other’s boners. Another thirty seconds and the blond would have his tongue in the other guy’s ass.

Tilting his head to look Stiles in the eye, Derek raised an eyebrow. “Very interesting.”

“Oh my God.” Stiles yanked his arm free and scrambled for balance. “No! Find inspiration somewhere that is not my bedroom and not with my porn. I really don’t need this right now.”

“That’s right.” Derek swiveled the chair so he was facing Stiles, his legs spread obscenely wide. “You’re done for the day, aren’t you?”

“Um.”

Behind Derek, the screen was showing the blond guy -- Stiles never bothered to remember his name -- palming his ‘straight’ friend’s cock and saying, “Do you want to experiment a bit? Like on each other? No one needs to know.”

The lighting was bad, the acting unpolished and the video’s sound filter was crap. But Stiles was rock hard anyway, always was, even before these two got their clothes off. He looked away and caught Derek watching him.

“Yes, fine. I’m already done for the day.” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“I know you’re done,” Derek said, standing, suddenly too close, “because I had to listen to you.”

Stiles could smell his cologne and fuck, it smelled like his pillow. He’d jacked off to that smell two nights running. He bit his lips to stop himself from saying something stupid like ‘sorry.’ Mainly because he wasn’t sorry -- embarrassed as hell, but not sorry.

Derek moved right up into Stiles’ face and Stiles fought the urge to cower. “It wasn’t bad enough that you smelled so desperate this morning, but then you pulled yourself off right outside my house. Do you know what you sounded like, Stiles?”

Derek’s eyes flashed red and the bastard probably did that on purpose to make Stiles’ pulse race even faster.

“I guess I should thank you, really. I got off pretty fast listening to you. You sounded like you were going to die if you didn’t come.” Derek was crowding him, his nose grazing Stiles’ chin, making every word a puff of hot air on Stiles’ neck. “And even better, I got off again after you left because _I was still hard_.”

Stiles pressed his eyes shut and wondered if coming in his pants without even touching himself would lose him the bet. He wasn’t about to ask.

In the background, the porn was still playing. The sloppy wet sounds of eating ass filled the room now that they’d stopped yelling at each other. The bottom was begging, choked and breathy. The words were nonsensical: stop, fuck; please, more; fuck you are so good at that. He was a shitty actor with nice abs, but he begged beautifully.

Derek’s eyes were drawn to it and Stiles’ followed.

This was the reason this damn vid was his favorite. Every moan, every whimper sounded genuine because the guy really was a bad actor (the ‘plot’ bits made that abundantly clear). To Stiles it meant the guy’s love of a mouth on his ass was one hundred percent real. That’s what got Stiles off. Every. Time.

He turned away from Derek and from the screen, trying to discreetly adjust his hard-as-nails cock. He had to get out of here.

“Just... be gone when I get back,” Stiles said, frustration making every word brittle. This would be his _second_ fucking cold shower today.

“Stiles.” Derek reached out for his arm, giving him that same look from that morning. Manipulative bastard. “Don’t go.”

“Stop fucking with me, alright?” Stiles pulled away, eyes stinging with an unwanted surge of self pity. “I know it’s just about the stupid bet, but back off. I know you’re not into me so quit the mind games shit.”

Derek moved to stand between him and the door, and Stiles stared at the carpet gritting his teeth.

“Look at me.”

Derek tried to force his chin up but Stiles jerked his face to the side.

“I...” Derek cleared his throat. “Damn you, Stiles. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.”

“Whatever.” Stiles shoved at Derek’s chest, trying to make it to the door. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Derek said, and the space between them vanished from one heartbeat to the next.

Derek’s fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, tugging him forward and they were kissing. Not even an awkward too hard press of lips type of kiss. It was like they skipped that part. Instead it was straight on to porn kissing with Stiles making noises like those coming from the laptop.

But it was okay, because so was Derek. He was making it sound like Stiles’ mouth was the best thing to happen to him. Not like he was acting.

Derek was kissing him like he meant it.

It did enter Stiles’ mind that this might have to do with winning the bet, until they pulled back and the flash of vulnerability that crossed Derek’s face as he waited for Stiles’ reaction was unmistakable.

Stiles’ eyes widen. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Heh.”

“Shut up.” Derek cupped his cheek to steal another kiss. “This alright?”

“Yeah.”

_“I’m gonna to fuck you now. I’m gonna split you wide open on my huge weiner. Then I’m gonna coat your face with my cream.”_

Derek froze. His eyes, comically wide, flickered back to the screen and he burst out laughing. “That’s some quality porn dialogue you’ve got there.”

Stiles’ lips quirked. “You like it?” He wasn’t about to tell Derek he rarely made it this far into the scene before getting off.

Pressing his lips to Stiles’ ear, Derek whispered, “You want me to _split you open_ , Stiles?” Derek’s voice cracked over the words, trying to quell his laughter.

It didn’t matter to Stiles that he was joking, it still made his hips jerk forward. They shared a moan at the friction of their crotches rubbing together. Derek’s dark chuckle was a thousand times hotter that the tinny sound of bad porn still going on in the background.

The moment escalated pretty quickly from there.

Derek’s mouth travelled down to Stiles’ jaw, nipping and licking and not feeling at all like a joke anymore. A strangled noise escaped Stiles’ throat. He couldn’t keep still, getting his hands everywhere and rolling hips, trying to find friction against Derek’s thigh.

“Shit, Stiles.” Derek’s hands tightened on his hips, and Stiles blinked up, shocked to find Derek look even more wrecked than Stiles felt. “You want this, right?”

Stiles snorted, letting Derek walk him back towards the bed. “You’re not honestly asking me that.” He grabbed the back of Derek’s neck and pulled him in for another kiss even though his mouth was already raw and tingling from Derek’s stubble.

“Tell me,” Derek said as the back of Stiles’ knees hit the bed. He stepped away, panting. He had no right to look shy.

Stiles reached for him again.

“Yes, fuck,” he breathed, exasperated. “It’s pretty damn obvious I want this.” Stiles yanked at his shirt, whipping it over his head, hoping nudity would add a big ass exclamation point to his yes. “Clothes off now.”

“Bossy.” Derek peeled off his shirt. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Pot, kettle.” Stiles fumbled to remove his jeans, but they caught around his ankle -- like he didn’t do this everyday, how was it suddenly so complicated? Possibly because Derek was unzipping and kicking off his own jeans only a foot from him, with all the grace and efficiency Stiles was lacking at the moment.

He nearly fell over the tangle at his feet as Derek’s boxers hit the floor.

“Damn.” Stiles wasn’t ashamed to admit he was gaping. “You could totally do monster werewolf-cock porn with that thing.” Swallowing became difficult. His ass clenched. Perhaps he hadn’t thought this through fully.

“Sweet talker.” Then Derek’s hands were on his waist, whipping Stiles around so he faced the bed. His feet were still trapped in his jeans and his hands landed on his mattress to keep his balance.

“I have some hand cream.” He waved his hand in the general direction of his hiding spot and crawled further onto the bed. “Behind the dictionary in the headboard.”

“You know,” Derek said, leaning over him to reach for it. “I looked everywhere for that. I was wondering how you played with yourself four times a day without lube handy.”

“You gave that a lot of thought, did you?”

“I imagined a lot of palm licking.” Derek paused, and Stiles craned his neck to watch Derek squirt the white cream into his palm. Stiles hurried to get his boxers around his thighs. “At least that’s what I had to settle for.”

Stiles was wrapping his head around that visual when Derek gripped his cock. Stiles swore his entire body stopped. Lungs. Heart. Whatever it was his spleen did. He was sure it all stopped because _Derek Hale’s_ hand was now on his cock.

“Oh shit.” Stiles gasped, inhaling shallow, half-panicked breaths. His brain looped through _dick, hand, not my hand, oh shit, feels amazing_. Derek hadn’t even done much more than hold him -- which was probably a good thing, because it was only that and a healthy dose of nerves stopping him from a hair-trigger orgasm.

Stiles had Derek naked in his bed. He wanted a bit more than a handjob. Stiles shifted himself further onto the bed and yanked his boxers down to his knees as gracefully as he could with his feet still trapped in his jeans.

“Condoms. Top drawer,” Stiles said, trying to keep his head as Derek continued to just _hold his dick_ like he enjoyed the feel of it in his palm. “And look, you should know I’ve never--”

Derek pressed him face first into the mattress and covered his back with his weight. Derek’s voice was a deep rumble next to his ear, all vulnerability now gone. “Not going to fuck you, Stiles.”

With a kiss at the back of Stiles’ neck, Derek’s hand slipped away from his cock. He heard Derek pump a few more squirts of cream into his hand and the sound of him slicking himself; Stiles had a hard time finding Derek’s words believable.

Derek straddled the outside of Stiles’ knees, pinning him to the bed with both his weight and the fact that he was leaning on the jeans still around Stiles’ ankles.

Stiles fell to his elbows, his head resting on his pillow, his ass in the air. It suddenly occurred to him that his bare ass was displayed like an invitation to just ram inside. His very tight and dry _virgin ass_. He tried to swallow down his panic and focus. His stomach was squirly as he struggled for words, not wanting to ruin this thing, not wanting to stop, but needing to say something. “I’m going to need some prep, right? Virgin here.”

His cheeks burned. But yeah. Necessary, because he was very much a virgin with a completely untouched ass. He’d read enough to know terms like ‘properly stretched’ and Derek was a neanderthal with werewolf healing powers who might not think of these things.

“I said I’m not going to fuck you.”

“Um, okay?”

All the breath escaped his lungs at the feel of Derek’s hand on his cock again. This time it wasn’t just holding him. He’d never doubt Derek’s talent at jerking off again. The grip was tight and confident, giving Stiles a couple good tugs before thumbing over the head.

“Your dick really is great. I can see why you’re obsessed with it.”

“You’re such a bastard,” Stiles snapped, but it lost all its vitriol coming out in a breathy gasp. It wasn’t long before he was shoving himself backward, Derek’s slick cock branding his ass cheek as he squirmed. “So much better than my own hand.”

Derek chuckled like he understood. Stiles figured he probably did, given the amount of time lately he’d spent in solitary pursuits.

Derek’s hips were pressed against him and he wondered if Derek had changed his mind and was going to plunder his ass. Lust flared hotter than panic, though, as Derek thrust forward a few times, his dick sliding wetly along Stiles’ cleft.

A few more rolls of his hips and Derek slipped lower. On the next thrust, there was a press along Stiles’ balls. Stiles’ eyes squeezed shut. He panted wetly into his pillow. Derek’s cock stroked just below his ball sac, riding between his thighs.

“Squeeze.”

It took a moment to get it, then Stiles shimmied on the bed until his knees were pressed together. Derek groaned and thrust into the tight space, the slick of the hand cream wetting Stiles’ inner thighs.

Bending his neck, Stiles watched the head of Derek’s cock disappear and reappear between his thighs right beneath his balls.

“Oh my God.” Stiles’ breath came ragged, like he was in the middle of the most brutal lacrosse practice and not literally doing nothing besides holding himself up and trying not to come.

“Internet porn didn’t teach you everything, now did it?”

“My fault for not being more creative in my searches.” Which was a shame because this was a revelation. If it felt anywhere near as good on the other end -- and Derek was certainly making it sound like it did -- it was a tragedy that he’d been lacking this position in his wank material.

Derek snapped his hips in a pounding rhythm, matching pace with the strokes of Stiles’ cock. The guy could fuck like a jackhammer, Stiles would give him that. And if he was completely honest, he was glad it wasn’t his ass getting abused. It was all too much. Head swimming, Stiles watched Derek fist his cock as he braced himself against the mattress. An overly loud whine slipped out. He was so close.

“Shh! Your dad.”

“Shit,” Stiles panted, “he coming up?”

“No. Downstairs watching a ball game.” Derek didn’t sound any more in control than Stiles. “But let’s not get him up here investigating.”

Stiles nodded, biting his lip to keep quiet on the next thrust.

“Mets are losing,” Derek added, “by the way.”

Stiles bit his pillow to muffle the hysterical laugh bubbling up inside him. “I hate you.”

Derek twisted his palm over the head of Stiles’ cock. “I don’t think you do.”

Derek was wrong. At the moment -- with him so fucking close to losing it -- needing to be quiet, needing to _laugh_ , needing to not shout his fucking admiration for the talents of the smug bastard behind him? Yeah, he hated Derek.

He’d hate him a thousand times more if he stopped right now, so Stiles wisely kept his mouth shut and tilted his hips, urging Derek on.

He felt his orgasm start to build after one sharp jab of Derek’s cock, angled high and up to drag along Stiles’ balls. He felt the shock of it deep in his belly, down in his toes. He tensed, squeezing at Derek with his thighs until he heard a gasp. He started fucking Derek’s palm, off rhythm and sloppy, all control and finesse he’d been faking totally lost to the need to get off.

Cursing into his pillow, he lost it. Come landed in sticky strips along his chest, dripping down and messing his sheets. Derek pumped him through it until Stiles finally collapsed onto the bed.

Derek covered him head to toe, lifting up on his elbows to take some of his own weight.

It was still heavy and overly hot, but Stiles was too boneless to complain. Still straddling Stiles’ knees, Derek fucked his thighs, pounding Stiles into the mattress. He finished with a quiet sigh and an open-mouthed kiss to Stiles’ shoulder that was too much tongue and a harsh scrape of teeth.

“That better not be a hickey, asshole,” Stiles muttered and reached for the kleenex box.

* * *

Stiles woke to the feel of Derek slipping out of his bed. His eyes snapped to the clock. 3am. They must have fallen asleep.

Stiles remembered cleaning up and starting to kiss again. There’d been lots of kissing, very little talking.

“Leaving?” Stiles said, because that was what you were supposed to ask, right? No matter how obvious the answer was.

Derek stopped his search for his clothes long enough to meet Stiles’ gaze. “I need to get out of here in case your dad...”

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded, rubbing at his eyes. He yawned, grateful he’d be asleep again in a few minutes and not doing the four mile walk of shame that Derek was about to suffer through. “He’d pretty much kick your werewolf ass, even if it was only my virgin thighs you defiled. Which are now -- eww -- really sticky because you suck at cleaning up.”

Derek hummed, slipping on his shirt. “Didn’t hear you complaining last night.”

“Speaking of bad porn dialogue. And last night I was in a ‘holyshitorgams with another warm body’ coma.”

“So romantic. Careful, I might swoon.”

“Asshole -- your socks are under my shirt-- my sex life took a decided turn for the better last night. I’m not letting your pissy 3am attitude ruin it.” Stiles blinked at the clock again. “It’s tomorrow! ha! I made it through day three of our bet! I totally didn’t expect that. I rock.”

Derek stopped buttoning his jeans and pressed his lips together.

“What? Sex is allowed, right? That didn’t need to be said. I got myself off only once yesterday. The second time _you_ got me off -- thank you for that, by the way, appreciated. So yeah. I made it three days. Woot!” 

Derek shook his head, raising his eyes to the ceiling. Stiles tried to figure out what he was missing.

“What is it? We agreed--” He sat up in bed, suddenly wide awake. He pointed a finger at Derek. “Wait. Wait a second. Last night you said you needed...”

Derek huffed, his chest rising and falling like the drama queen he was. “Yes. I needed one more. I came here to get my one more, and maybe tease you a bit. You were supposed to leave me here with your laptop and go wank in the shower or something. _That_ was my plan. Then you had to go be... you.”

Stiles left that last bit to figure out later. Instead he focused on the important part. “You only jacked off three times yesterday?”

Stiles threw his head back in laughter, not caring that he might wake his dad. Derek would tell him if he did, probably by ducking out the window. Anyway, it was all too good, too delicious to curb his laughter. “I won. I won the bet because you fucked my thighs instead of your own hand. Because, what? You found me irresistible?” Stiles wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes. His throat hurt from laughing. “That might be the best thing I’ve heard all year.”

“Stiles.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

“Derek?”

Derek opened the window and paused before he turned back with a long suffering sigh. “Yes?”

“Make sure the Camaro has a full tank of gas for next weekend.”

Derek failed to hide his fond smile as he ducked out into the night.

* * *

The leather was cool beneath his palms and Derek’s thighs hot beneath his own. The radio was on some classic rock station and Stiles would be cracking jokes about old man music except his tongue was otherwise occupied and had been for about an hour now.

They were both hard and aching, occasionally brushing up against each other just to tease, but they’d settle back. What else were lazy Saturday afternoons for anyway?

Certainly not for washing cars. And the Camaro was filthy after Stiles’ joy ride along the muddy back roads of Beacon Hills. Derek’s bitching had played out like a theme song the entire way.

“So glad I won.”

“Only good thing about you winning--” Derek nipped at Stiles’ jaw, his hands giving Stiles’ ass a squeeze. “-- can’t do this in your shitty Jeep.”

Stiles sputtered in outrage, pushing away. “Wanna bet?”

Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “What do you have in mind?”

**Author's Note:**

> [me on tumblr](http://marguerite26.tumblr.com/)


End file.
